Jacob Reyes finished calibrating the scanning equipment, glancing at his colleague and boss.
In his long life, Jacob Reyes had seen all kinds of women. Those who used their looks, the attractive ones. The powerful ones who commanded respect or fear, hunters and victims, those offering a man (or not) the chance to hunt them. Dana scares him and makes him want to hide in the test bunker where the scientist is waiting for his colleague.
After their research group was dropped off at the "Sahara" test range, she spent three days, with breaks for sleep, preparing the equipment for tests. This woman scares him. No, she scares everyone who meets her.
Have you ever seen a mad scientist? Not a movie clown who creates something with chaotic movements in a strange mechanism under infernal laughter, no. A mad or evil scientist knows what they are doing. He—or in Jacob's case, she—composes her symphony of destruction. Without looking at the opinions of others, despising them if they try to interfere.
Dana doesn't crave academic degrees; she wants to build a death machine. She is a maniac in a white coat, experiencing childish delight when hydrogen oversaturated with neutrons turns everything around it into plasma as a result of a reaction.
Gravity that warps space makes her dance, and a plasma mortar based on a Warthog, completely unpredictable due to the mobility of the four-wheel-drive vehicle, charges her with positivity and a thirst for action. And she starts to sing:
"Sleep, my joy, go to sleep...
The lights in the morgue have gone out...
Corpses lie on the shelves...
Flies buzz over them..."
How is a normal, sane, adult man supposed to work in such conditions? It's unclear. And he can't refuse; he agreed to these conditions himself. And when he tried to protest, he was politely but clearly reminded of this. You agreed, now work.
And right now, as the girl prepares the backpack emitter for the test, he has to keep an eye on her. She'll start testing outside the bunker in her lab coat; she won't be able to help herself! Right now, the woman in the coat is in the test zone, preparing the device, even though she could use robots. But it's too slow for her, you see—she's calculated everything! What is he supposed to do with her, eh?
"Radiological protection suit, Dana. It's necessary for this test. Don't forget about it."
The girl, adjusting the weapon in the test zone (at least without the tank of active substance), didn't even turn around.
"We both know, Jacob, that I follow the regulations. And that our device is almost ready. Have you ever been to the front lines? Seen a glassing?"
The man shuddered. No, he hadn't been, but he didn't lack imagination or an understanding of the processes. He knows what plasma does to matter and has even seen it thanks to the plasma mortar tests.
"No, I haven't. I don't need to."
Then the woman shrugged, continuing her work. Just in case, Jacob, sitting in the protective bunker, checked the data; everything was normal. No radiation, the test zone is safe. But Dana thought about it and added:
"I have. And it's magnificent to see everything vanish in flames. There are no cries for help, nothing; the heat kills and vaporizes bodies instantly, fusing buildings and their inhabitants together. Purification," the man swallowed, perfectly understanding what she was talking about, "Did you know that the Covenant built an entire religion around killing us? They burn words onto the surface of glassed worlds. Telling us in whose name we must die."
"And?"—asking the question was a bit scary.
"My weapon will purge reality of them. And nothing will remain but light. The light of radiation."
He suddenly lost all desire to talk about it. Because she said it in all seriousness. This is exactly what a mad scientist looks like. She doesn't care about titles; there is only a thirst for destruction and a desire to prove that her approach to annihilation is the most correct. And it's quite scary. Maybe... No, he can't; intelligence is watching. The man sighed heavily. He should still approach his colleague's aspirations more carefully and write a note to the psychologists—let them check her. You never know.
"We are ready for the test; everything is connected."
The girl nodded and left the test zone, joining Jacob in the bunker. But she still didn't put on the suit. And even a stern look didn't help.
"Everything is calculated; I'm safe. We can begin," she rolled her eyes and added, "we are in a reinforced anti-radiation bunker, and the last three tests went without incident."
A fact. Well, okay, the bunker doors are closed, the sensor readings are normal, we can start. The man spoke:
"We are ready. Equipment test initiated. Phase one: connecting the fuel cell."
The test zone itself is a concrete pad in the open air. There are closed ones too, but we don't need that. Around it are hundreds of kilometers of desert nothingness and other such pads. It's better not to work during the day; it's hot. But at night it's fine. Two hundred meters from the pad is the test bunker where the scientists—that is, we—are sitting. Capable of withstanding both a shockwave and radiation, although a direct shot from their weapon would melt through the bunker in about twenty seconds, and if it didn't melt through, the shock dose of radiation would be several hundred times the lethal limit. Okay, calm down.
Now a hatch opened near the installation, and a robotic arm, extending from the underground part of the installation, connected a bright yellow cylinder with a radiation symbol. That very magnetic bottle with oversaturated hydrogen. You don't even have to look at the dosimeter: if the device were damaged, the radiation would simply vaporize both the bottle and the mechanism around it. The reason why the weapon is too dangerous to use. But Dana doesn't want to listen; she wants to burn.
Meanwhile, the mechanical arm connected the cylinder and retracted back into the hatch.
"Connection completed successfully. All indicators in the green zone," his colleague announced, "targets are in place. You or me?"
Can it be neither? But the man still replied with a sigh.
"Go ahead, you want to."
The girl bared her teeth, making it seem for a second that she wasn't human. But it only seemed that way. It just seems that way, right? Humans can't grin and have their eyes sparkle like that, can they? Dana, meanwhile, carefully pushed him away from the console, smiling normally now.
"So, the first test. Standard infantry armor with filling. No shields, control sample. Fire," and she pressed the button.
A double blue beam, spiraling around its axis, shot out of the device, illuminating the dark surroundings and hitting the armor. In less than a second, the armor lit up from the inside, glowing white-hot and collapsing; it disintegrated into flakes in a white-violet flame.
Well, he'd be the one recording the results then. His partner nodded, continuing to smile happily.
"Total of 0.486 seconds for complete vaporization of the target. Control sample destroyed. Recorded?"
"Yes, of course," it's better not to argue when someone looks at you with such satisfied eyes. You never know. What if she drags him to the altar? The scientist, humming to herself, continued:
"Excellent. Second test: infantry armor, but with different types of protection. A liquid dome, plasma and kinetic shields, a blast shield, and then a group of targets. The device is stable; everything is in the green zone. Beginning. Fire!"
The degree of destructiveness... is staggering. First was the armor with a kinetic shield used by the Council Races. 0.514 seconds. In the end, the armor, vaporizing with a bright violet glow and a lot of radiation, disintegrated into flakes. The same fate awaited the other samples. The plasma shield disintegrated under the wave of radiation almost faster than the kinetic one, likely due to the extensive radiation bombardment.
Solid barriers lasted longer—by half a second. At the same time, judging by the instruments, they generously showered the mannequins behind the armor with shock doses of radiation, so they wouldn't have lived long. A terrifying weapon: if it doesn't vaporize you, turning you into plasma, it will irradiate you so much that no one will find it funny. And armor won't save you.
It's horrible! But Dana is satisfied.
"A few more successful tests, some calculations, and we'll already have a combat-ready sample. So, there's enough charge for one more target. What should we vaporize," at this, the mechanism swung its barrel from side to side, at least not toward the bunker, though she was capable of it.
In previous times, no substance remained; it seems Dana optimized the fuel consumption. Well, that's good, considering the difficulties in obtaining the substance. If the military wants to use this weapon, there will definitely be difficulties with replenishing the ammunition.
A Warthog chassis—an old one, of course—was chosen as the final target. And this is where it gets interesting. After all, an infantryman and a car chassis are different things.
"And... Fire!"
The blue beam hit the armor, heating it up and burning a hole. The chassis lit up from the inside as if from a plasma bolt, glowed white-hot, flowed, but when the power supply stopped, the chassis was still standing, though it was glowing. Dana looked with interest at the fuel gauge—empty. Then at the glowing, partially collapsed interior of the car chassis. With such damage, it certainly wouldn't be going anywhere, and sitting in a chassis that had turned white from heat and was emitting radiation isn't good for one's health.
Looking at the girl's smile, Jacob winced.
"So, are you satisfied?"
She nodded.
"Of course, Jacob, it's a success. A successful test, good indicators. I'll inform management that we succeeded. Including the accompanying successes, as well as your contribution to our cause. And for the future, Jacob. No need to be such a worrywart; it doesn't suit you."
All that was left was to sigh. Dana was being her usual self. How do her colleagues even tolerate her?
***
No matter how much Jacob Reyes grumbled, we got a lot of interesting things. A factory producing the substance in eleven-dimensional space. The substance itself—the first in this reality, for a second. People of my era knew how to create and use such things. And the emitter, of course. I had to give a little speech to Jacob, but his attitude in general is quite annoying.
Seriously, I calculated everything using the core's resources. Why these attempts to hang a couple more backup systems? The emitter is already turning out to be quite bulky. And this is a manual (!) weapon. And it's not suitable for mounting on a Warthog—short range, up to thirty meters in the very best case. Except as projectiles, but it's not all that simple here either; ideally, you need to burn a hole in the enemy, insert a projectile there, and irradiate it from the inside, which means the warhead must be a combined HEAT type, which is overkill for anything not of the anti-ship class.
In short, a compact backpack unit is the ideal option. Но for that, it must fit on a back! Worrywarts, damn them!
Another point is Captain Vorhess, flying somewhere. Who would have guessed that one operation would yield so much material for analysis.
First, two Asari, looking and behaving identically to the limit, if you exclude age. Dr. N'Lari and T'Soni. That doesn't happen! Even training twins in the same place, under the same conditions, will yield some difference in reflexes; clones develop their own unique motor skills over time. And here it's like copied code. And it doesn't look like clones; there are nuances there. Interesting.
The second question: the ship on which Captain Vorhess and Dr. N'Lari are heading into the unknown. I studied the engine a bit, as much as possible during operation... And it's a primitive slipspace drive that the locals, through some infernal sorcery and a supercomputer with a dumb AI included, combined with a mass effect core.
For those who don't know, slipspace is originally eleven-dimensional, but thanks to technology, a bubble of normal space for humans is created in it. This allows us to obtain hydrogen oversaturated with neutrons, ships to fly between systems, and in the future, many more interesting things. And the locals stuck another anomaly into this one, from a mass effect core. Why and how??? How could anyone even think of such a perversion?
But according to calculations, this thing, if it doesn't kill us all, squeezes out up to fifty light-years a day, although it requires a separate computing center to operate. Or rather, not quite—due to the need to balance the mass effect core, the speed is from ten to fifty, averaging twenty-five. And all this with the risk that your mass effect core will fail from power surges, and a three-day flight will turn into a month and a half, without any stasis pods like on human ships. These are suicide squads, and now we are too!
I didn't touch anything, just looked at the formulas and sent them to command. Stealth frigates have already departed; the ship must be studied. What kind of pervert did this and why interests more than just me. No, it's clear why—local engines are limited to 15 light-years a day, and the maximum range is limited to three days of flight, whereas here it's up to fifty. But it's still a chthonic and unstable device.
And where we are flying. I understand the place is secret, so we'll gut it with the fleet's forces. Но that will be later.
While I'm modeling all this and preparing, I can mess with the kids a bit. Their first hike is going well.
At first, there was panic, of course, a few hysterics, and a lot of nerves. A third of the students were seeing a forest live for the first time in their lives, and a lot of resources were lost during the drop. Their task is simple: get from point A to point B, take a crate and supplies there, and go to the evacuation point. You could manage it in a sunny day if you wanted, but they have no training, so it's a week.
And that's where the drama began. First, panic and frantic attempts to understand what they had, while a quarter of the camp realized where they had been taken. And they weren't weaklings, regardless of gender or age. They just discovered that instead of concrete or the hard floor of the decks, there was trembling marshy soil; the forest had no clear boundaries, and something was flickering, running, and crawling there.
And in general, people began to realize that they were alone in an unknown forest. In short, for the first day and a half, the squad was coming to its senses, frantically digging in and building a tent city on the nearest (specially chosen for the occasion) rock. Frankly speaking, if Miranda hadn't empathized with others' problems but had quietly left with the radio station, she could have completed her personal task in about five hours. But we have what we have; the kids decided to dig in, and then somehow life began to get organized, and it became difficult to leave unnoticed.
They decided to camp near the drop zone on the rock and send out scouts in search of supplies and points of interest, and with the scouts, those who needed to find or do something. So that no one got lost, which is sensible, and so there was no panic and so on. The squad was quite moved by the fact that a jock who lived on the Moon could simply be afraid to walk on slightly unstable marshy ground, and even imagine seasickness. In short, caution was their choice.
A good plan, but with nuances. For example, some of the tents were lost (left in the transport) with the cargo. The teenagers tried to request new ones over the radio, but that would have been too simple. So the argument about who sleeps with whom and who owes what to whom, which started on the evening of the first day, didn't stop, as did the grumbling of those dissatisfied with the results of the discussion.
Not everyone wanted to crowd together, especially with characters of the other gender and under vulgar jokes. We would have suppressed anything harsher, but the teenagers have behaved quite reasonably so far. So what if they fought a couple of times over living space? The squad's "medic" found some practice; why not?
Then the squad faced the question of food. We aren't animals, and several people were found to have a supply of rations, and there is also a cave-warehouse with them on the rock, but hunters and fishermen were also found. There were fewer showdowns here; after all, everyone wants to eat, and only a few have the skills. Especially since the most cowardly can take care of the camp's internal maintenance, like firewood.
Yes, what kind of tent camp is it without fires and roasting everything on them? And you need a lot of firewood for fifty people. The situation isn't combat-related; the mentors have no complaints. It came down to dancing and singing; even I took it calmly.
Having strengthened the camp a bit, a hierarchical division of society began under the brisk comments of Baba Klava. The thing is, besides general tasks, the squad also received private ones. Finding a package in the forest, minimizing resource loss, organizing some camp functions, or more subtle things, depending on the student.
The class president, for example, has a map that no one should know about, and Miranda and her friends must swipe a radio station and bring it to the specified point. There are also saboteurs and those who must play the role of police.
And problems immediately began with the latter. The tasks were assigned based on dossiers, so the struggle for power, social stratification (who lives where and with whom, who chews rations and who gets the results of hunting or home supplies), and abuses surfaced immediately. And the "police" were in the front ranks, which immediately caused unrest in society.
"Tsk, kids," Baba Klava winced, "and you can't explain to him that if you make his life miserable now, he won't cover you later."
"Won't cover is the best-case scenario," I agreed, "in the worst case, he might make some ventilation. In your back. On the other hand, that's what it's for—to show these kinds of moments, to teach them. Or am I wrong?"
The old woman laughed.
"Comradeship is important, of course. But it's not made so easily; it takes work. And not the way you do it. What, you want to lead the girls away and let them spin? Intelligence as usual, won't let anyone live," and at my look, she added, "I'm intelligence too, I remember, I'm not senile yet. But here it's a sure thing; they're likely to start fighting and dividing up the girls any minute. Fighting cocks. Tsk."
"Did you never do that yourself?"
She looked at me with suspicion.
"Never in my life. No, it's nice, of course, when handsome, strong guys break each other's faces for you while showing off their muscles, but not like this! So you're going to lead your girls away now, and you'll rob the class president too?" I nodded. "Well, then, and you'll see what starts. They left us on a Tibetan pass for our finals, ten of us, without communication or supplies. And we made it out, survived by helping each other. We shared everything, did everything for our own, so that everyone made it, so that we were all as one, paratroopers. And these? Milk-drinkers."
And she added a few stronger expressions to herself. I began to wait for the moment. On the fourth night, such a moment presented itself. The squad, having relaxed a bit, having solved the first problems and scouted the area a little, approached patrolling very carelessly. The local "police" were more looking for traitors and fighting for power and the tastiest spots than waiting for someone to attack them. True, but convenient for intelligence. The radio came to life.
Miranda, sitting in the company of friends by their group of tents and warming herself by the night fire, reacted. The other girls moved closer, turning the volume to the minimum so as not to wake the people.
"Squad 'Seekers' on the line," the girl whispered loudly, looking around. If anyone did wake up, they didn't get up.
Well, now just do everything right. So I spoke into the radio:
"An additional task for twenty points has been added. Secretly steal the class president's map, located in her personal belongings in the general warehouse, and deliver it to point five within eight hours. Confirm."
The girls looked at each other under the quiet crackle of the fire. Silently and in surprise, then Miranda whispered:
"Confirming, but..."
"The class president has a map?" Tyree, one of the friends, asked in surprise.
I smiled on my end.
"With all the task completion points. Her personal task; no one in the camp should know about the treasure map. Officially. Unofficially, of course, you understand."
Miranda snorted with conviction. Well, yes, the class president has a boyfriend, and he knows about the map, and he's already completed his task. And she'll lead her buddies where they need to go; they've already made a deal—we eavesdropped. But officially, of course, there is no map.
"So, if we take the map..." Miranda muttered.
"Hey, wait!" another friend, Lisa, interrupted, "the others will realize it was us."
"But the points," Miranda said, embarrassed, "and the personal tasks. You have them too. I was thinking, it turns out either we do everything, or they do. Well, with the radio."
"That's not right!" Tyree was indignant.
"But how else?" after thinking, Lisa added, "no, really. Even before these tasks, it's either the radio or the task. It has to be done secretly..."
In fact, they have options, like separating from the group on the last day, for example. Or...
...leave a map with the necessary points so they don't get lost. Or steal it right away, rather than on the fourth day. Ultimately, the personal assignment is the essence of the trial. But it's one thing for us, the ones who came up with this. It's another for a group of three teenage girls who have to decide what to do by the campfire. Clearly play against the squad or give up points. And you can never have too many points; the individual standings haven't been canceled. And greed over the map is gnawing at them—such an unpleasant setup. I know what buttons to press.
"The guys won't understand, we'll have problems!" Tyree, a black girl, tried to appeal to reason.
"We already have problems," Lisa countered, "in our grades, in practice. Nothing bad will happen to us. I'm sure all of this, everything around us, is a setup. Besides, the more points we have, the less we'll have to spend. And we could go somewhere together, and spend the points on school equipment."
The points system, as I found out, came from Britain. There are both general and individual standings; individual points can be spent on various small household items for students from the additional supply list, while general points can even be used to order certain events—for example, booking the canteen for themselves for an evening. Of course, you can't save up for that alone, and points are deducted for penalties, but if the squad is effective, why not.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," Tyree grumbled. "What are we doing?"
The plan was made quickly. They decided to rob the warehouse for the map, rations, and flashlights, and then move toward the required point. Here they were helped by the fact that the class monitor's personal belongings weren't in the command tent—though calling it a command tent was a stretch—but in the cave-warehouse with clothes and other gear. A necessary measure due to lack of space; there was just a mountain of bags with things that wouldn't spoil. If they went in there, no questions would be asked.
"Well, it's not like we're going in there to steal! No one will think that!" Miranda said.
"But that's exactly what we're doing," Tyree countered.
"But you're still with us," Lisa noted, with a nod from the second friend. Promising girls.
"With you. It's stupid, but we're together, friends."
"Friends," the others agreed.
Thanks to this opportunity, as well as the virtual absence of guards (there are a couple of people, but more nominally; there are no predators in the area), they managed to slip out of the camp relatively easily. They dressed in camouflage, bags on their backs, and forward in a column. The sentries, by the way, noticed them, but decided that since they were leaving as a squad, everything was fine. Maybe reconnaissance or somewhere else. Another mistake.
And once there, after an hour's journey, the girls rested a bit, inspected the trophies, and began to get indignant. All three of them.
"This map! Everything is drawn here! All the assignments, all the points, where everything is! And she didn't say anything! And there are compasses, and even a PDA! And who's the traitor now, us or Anna! And she's the class monitor! I bet she told and showed everything to Dimka, since he's with her!"
Even the voice of reason in the form of Tyree was angry. She still had no idea where she was supposed to go to complete her assignment. A tree with a hollow near the river. They found the river, but the search was dragging on, and here everything was laid out—half a day's work, even for a non-professional.
"It's not right to set them up like that," the old woman sighed while I revved up the engines of the UH-144 Falcon. "There will be no trust in each other."
I snorted.
"They'll learn. That's what it's for; chaos will break out, they'll start running around, they'll get scared. Next time they'll think with their heads, not their balls."
"It's still not right," the woman countered, taking a seat in the cabin. "It's your people, ONI, who came up with these conditions so there would be conflict instead of friendship. It's not right, it divides. There should be brotherhood."
I nodded.
"The class monitor could have shown the map to everyone, could have led everyone where they needed to go. It's part of leader training, so that subordinates carry out orders without asking questions. They chose this way; no one forced them."
But Klavdia Petukhova stuck to her opinion, and I to mine. Choice is important, as is making the right choice by thinking with your head. They'll learn or be weeded out over time.
I specifically flew the twin-engine machine over the awakening camp so they would notice. The teenagers had already noticed the absence of the radio operator and her friends, but they hadn't yet realized the full scale of the problems that had fallen upon them.
We flew over the forest and three figures in black hats and camouflage—a blonde, a brunette, and a black girl. They noticed the helicopter too and ran after it, puffing under the weight of their bags. This was the trio of saboteurs.
As for me, I calmly landed the helicopter and began to wait, watching the cameras. Breakfast was approaching, and it began to dawn on the teenagers searching for the missing girls, as well as the radio. After all, according to the exercise lore, there was not only the police, whose role was to find violators, but also saboteurs. Specifically, of course, to add tension and paranoia to what was happening. Judging by the conversations in the camp, the idea of checking the helicopter had already occurred to them. Но it would still take quite a while to walk, a couple of hours. Finally, three panting figures ran out of the forest into the clearing; they still lack endurance for now. I tapped on the helicopter's hull.
"Come on, come on. You've almost completed the assignment, and you even managed not to get spotted. Just a few more steps and that's it. Victory instead of breakfast."
Hearing this, they rejoiced, smiling through the effort, but satisfied. For now.
"Yessss!" Miranda laughed, giving high-fives to the others. "Just a second, we just need to catch our breath. We did it, right?"
I nodded.
"Yes, twenty points for each of the three of you. Tyree, yours is also credited. Give me the radio station and the map."
Miranda almost dropped the container, which was quite heavy for her, and sat down nearby, taking off her hat and combing her hair, which was sticking out of it with twigs and other debris. After all, no one had specifically cleared the forest.
"Here, everything according to the assignment. Left covertly, delivered to the site, no one realized a thing."
Meanwhile, I began making marks on the map. To their questioning looks, I explained:
"Alright, your next tasks. Here are the markers: go there, pick up the cargo, and deliver it to evacuation point 'Reserve'; you'll be picked up there."
They looked at me as if I were a ghost, amid Baba Klava's chuckles.
"What? But we thought..."
Baba Klava laughed outright looking at their bewildered faces.
"Girls, this task takes half a day, and the test is a week long. How long did it take you to run here? Exactly."
I added with a chuckle:
"An experienced group would have been here by the evening of the first day and would have already left the testing zone via 'Reserve' by now. But don't worry," I added, seeing the way they were looking at me, "hatred for sergeants and curators is normal. And who knows, you might earn more points. You might take the top spots in the standings. For now, you three are in the lead."
Their gaze clearly wished for me to crash along with the helicopter. But this wasn't the end yet.
"Only, you need to hurry, girls. We'll add some supplies for you, groundsheets, over there. And then hurry," Baba Klava added.
"Why?" Lisa asked cautiously. "What else don't we know? Just finish us off already."
With an expression of maximum sadism, I pulled a flare gun from my belt and fired upward, then explained, looking at the scarlet dot of the rocket:
"The camp is already awake and they saw where the helicopter flew. I think you have about an hour," I finished, starting the engines. "Good luck, I believe in you! Forward, reconnaissance, show those grasshoppers who's really tough here!"
If looks could kill, the departing helicopter would have been struck by a Covenant plasma torpedo. I just smiled. Wonderful entertainment.
They'll manage, simply out of a sense of hatred toward me. As for me, for now I need to pay more attention to Captain Vorhess; the procedure for exiting Slipspace has begun, the engine is accumulating energy. Now we'll find out what the Salarians found that made them start creating equipment atypical for the Council Races. We'll find out, oh yes.
***
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